


A Thousand Sounds

by celli



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/pseuds/celli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Watch it,” Clay said. “Your nursemaid here just might duct tape your mouth shut so you can rest your voice.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Cougar said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Sounds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [I_is_a_freak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_is_a_freak/gifts).



> Thanks to the fannish village that encouraged me, and especially watersword for the beta.

_"Did you know that cats can make one thousand different sounds and dogs can only make ten?" - Jensen_

* * *

Everyone knew Jensen was mouthy.

His team knew he was mouthy. The bad guys knew he was mouthy. Somewhere in stupid Max’s stupid files, there was probably a note about Jensen’s mouth and his regular running of same.

“The mouthiest,” Pooch said, blowing a kiss to Jensen from his perch on the crappy hotel room’s crappy desk. Clay was sprawled on the bed not covered in sniper and hacker gear, and Cougar was hovering over Jensen as he huddled miserably in the quote-unquote office chair, which had been made in the eighth circle of IKEA hell but was still better than trying to get Clay to move over before he was damned good and ready.

“You’re just jealous because it’s the prettiest,” Jensen tried to say, but the few sounds that made it out were guttural and harsh. Everyone winced, and Cougar shoved the glass of ice water at him again.

“Watch it,” Clay said. “Your nursemaid here just might duct tape your mouth shut so you can rest your voice.”

“Hmm,” Cougar said. Jensen side-eyed him and drank his water. It did make his throat feel better for all of thirty seconds before the tiny porcupines came back to live in it.

If he could talk, he would point out that he was a grownup and capable of making grownupish decisions. If he could talk, he would demand to know if any other person on this team, or in this man’s army, could keep up a steady stream of radio chatter on two different channels for twelve hours, directing his team through an urban maze while simultaneously diverting the mercenaries after them into an underground parking garage three miles away.

If he could talk, it would probably be because he’d fucked up that assignment and his team would be dead.

Not that he actually needed to talk for all this. He could just write it down…he had, actually, until Clay had snapped and had Pooch take all the paper out of the hotel room.

His friends SUCKED. Jensen crossed his arms and tried to glare the psychedelic wallpaper pattern off the hotel walls with his brain.

Pooch and Clay vanished—Pooch to have inappropriate Skype sex with Jolene, presumably, and Clay to have inappropriate real sex with Aisha. (If they wanted to keep their thrice-reignited doomed creepy love affair secret, Aisha should stop reserving hotel rooms next to Clay’s with the card Jensen could track. One of the cards.)

Jensen looked over at Cougar, who was staring at—Jensen looked down—Jensen’s crossed arms. Well, they were some badass biceps, that was true. Jensen waited for Cougar’s gaze to wander back to his face. “Heeeeey,” he said.

Cougar narrowed his eyes. “Duct tape.”

Jensen pouted at him.

Cougar pointed to the bed and grabbed Jensen’s glass to refill it. Jensen sulked to the bed, sulked out of his jeans and Powerpuff Girls t-shirt, sulked his way under the covers and squarely into the middle of the bed. He peeked out of the blanket just enough to see Cougar set the glass down on the nightstand and stare down at him.

Was that a sigh? Jensen held his breath and heard it again.

Well, how was he supposed to resist that? Jensen rolled over, yanking the covers with him until he cleared a Cougar-sized space. He was rewarded by the view of Cougar pulling off his vest and tank, placing his hat (carefully) and his gun (almost as carefully) on the nightstand, and shucking his jeans and briefs all the way down those fucking fantastic legs.

Cougar spooned up behind him and fixed the covers. Jensen started to say something again, remembered, and sagged back against Cougar, trying to communicate _I hate this hate this hate this_ with his body. He wanted to _talk_.

Cougar huffed a laugh into his ear, and even Jensen’s epic sulk couldn’t keep him from shivering in response.

Jensen dozed off for a little while, dreamed about being a (highly incompetent) sword swallower, and woke up as strong hands pulled him to a sitting position against the headboard. “Wha—“ he tried. Oh God ow. He cut himself off before Cougar could do more than glare at him in the dim light. The water glass appeared in his hand like magic (because Cougar = magic) and he sipped cautiously. Even drinking the water made his throat clench up, but it was infinitesimally better than before.

He drained half the glass, slid back down, and rolled into Cougar’s side. It hurt too much to make whiny noises, and Cougar knew how he felt anyway, so Jensen just buried his face in Cougar’s neck and let Cougar breathe in his ear. He tried to keep still, but well, he was him, and he kept shifting in a million tiny ways, as if getting his legs or whatever in the most comfortable position would somehow make up for his throat.

Cougar’s heartbeat and breath never changed. Jensen shifted, and fidgeted, and wriggled, and then brushed his hand at random over Cougar’s chest and Cougar’s breath hitched. Jensen did it again, with a little more pressure. Had Cougar’s heartbeat picked up just a little bit more speed?

Well, okay then.

Jensen left his hand where it was and wriggled the rest of him around until he could meet Cougar’s eyes. He looked as stoic/impassive/sniper-neutral as always, but his breathing was still ragged around the edges. Jensen grinned up at him. He kissed Cougar, but almost immediately pulled back when his fucking throat protested.

Cougar’s reaction was instantaneous. He rolled them until Jensen was flat on his back on the bed, Cougar looming over him, and slapped his hand over Jensen’s mouth. It was sort of like—actually, it was exactly like the time Cougar had sheltered him from an enemy sniper in Spain that one time. Jensen had popped a boner then, too. He huffed a breath out his nose and arched up into Cougar.

Cougar held his breath—how had Jensen not known this was A Thing for him, he needed to be mute more often—and eyed Jensen for a long, considering moment. Jensen had learned early on in their relationship that Cougar doing sex math usually got them someplace great, so he relaxed and stared back.

Cougar took his hand off Jensen’s mouth, and Jensen only had a quick second to be startled and a little bummed before Cougar grabbed _Jensen’s_ hand and placed it firmly where his own had been.

“Okay?” Cougar asked, barely audible, and Jensen nodded. His fingers were already digging in around his mouth to keep it firmly shut.

Cougar went for Jensen’s boxers, and Jensen was so distracted by that, he didn’t notice anything else until Cougar bit his nipple hard. Jensen slapped his free hand over his mouth, too, and came partway off the bed trying to suppress the noises he wanted to make.

Cougar laughed—quietly, of course, but he _laughed_ —and dragged his tongue across that same nipple, too hard to be soothing. He repeated the process across Jensen’s chest to his other nipple, biting a little harder, licking a little harder, then proceeded up his chest to his shoulders, his collarbone, his neck.

When Cougar finally stopped to concentrate on one spot under Jensen’s chin, Jensen was panting through his loosened fingers. He worked one hand free and tangled it in Cougar’s hair. He didn’t mean to pull on it—maybe—but Cougar bit down even harder, and Jensen almost balled his hand into a fist while still pushing Cougar’s face into his neck. Cougar froze, mouth open and wet against Jensen’s skin, and let out a breathy moan. Jensen held his breath to hear and feel it.

Cougar knocked the hand on Jensen’s mouth aside and dove in for a kiss. It was sloppy and loud in the silence, and Jensen stayed in it a bit too long before turning and shaking his head. He rubbed his neck. Cougar leaned away—Jensen grabbed at him in a panic—but Cougar was just reaching for the water glass. He held it as carefully as ever. Jensen drank as quickly as possible, and when the glass was empty Cougar flipped it end over end onto the unused bed. Jensen covered his mouth again to hold back the laughter, but Cougar did laugh. Again. Jesus Christ. Jensen went for Cougar’s hair again and pulled him down until he was a scant inch from Jensen’s ear. He wanted to hear _everything_.

They were not the most refined pair when it came to sex. They’d had blow jobs in places with too much sand. They’d fucked using a number of at-hand substances for lube that had not been manufactured with that purpose. They’d made each other come with their clothes still on maybe more than the reverse. But this was base and graceless even for them; rutting with no forethought or direction, just writhing against each other, cocks rubbing against stomachs and hips in turn. Jensen’s hand clenched in Cougar’s hair in time with their grinding. Cougar was grunting in Jensen’s ear, the noises getting progressively louder and longer as they went.

He groaned Jensen’s name as he came hot and slippery between them, and Jensen took his hand off his mouth and punched the headboard behind them twice, three times, and came all over them both.

* * *

Jensen was honestly still a little blissed out from the whole thing when they hit the continental breakfast the next morning. Pooch had the smug grin of the well-laid (or at least the well-masturbated), and Clay had that extra tension in his shoulders that meant Aisha had fucked him through the mattress then talked about Max, but Jensen kept drifting sideways as he sat and missing things said to him. Even the tourists and business travelers at the other tables kept looking over at him oddly.

Finally Cougar huffed out a laugh. He moved his chair over and propped Jensen up against him. Jensen grinned goofily at him, and Cougar’s look back was more fond than mocking. Jensen hummed happily—then stopped, because fucking ow, everything still hurt. He pouted at Cougar until a bunch of water and three different flavors of yogurt appeared in front of him. (Cougar = STILL magic.)

“So,” Pooch asked, not even pretending to hide his smirk, “I didn’t get my usual porn soundtrack from Mr. Mouthy over here.”

“I think Cougar did duct tape his mouth shut,” Clay said, easily ducking the yogurt lid Jensen winged at him.

Cougar cleared his throat. “I have a little more imagination than that, Colonel,” he said. Jensen looked at him, and Cougar leaned over to wipe a smudge of yogurt from his cheek. With his whole palm. Which he let sit over Jensen’s mouth for a long second.

Pooch and Clay both choked on their coffee; Jensen just sat back against Cougar, licked his spoon clean, and listened for the faint sound of Cougar’s laughter.


End file.
